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A Triptych For Amduscias
“Sorry to call you in this late, Sir.”
“It’s fine, Abigail,” grunted Sergeant Harold Dawkins, stifling a yawn as he folded his umbrella. Crime waits for no man, after all. “You said the killer sent something to your house?”
Abigail nodded, faintly trembling. He couldn’t blame her, really. Rookie officer comes in and the first case to fall into her lap was someone finding the body of a woman nailed upside down to a lamppost? Anyone would do the same. “I-I… I didn't know who else to call,” she whimpered.
“It’s okay,” he said. “Where is it?”
“I-Inside.”
She had placed them on the desk in his office: three identical flash drives, resting in a dripping, mud-stained Ziploc bag. With a grimace, Harold put on a pair of rubber gloves before unsealing it. A fetid stench immediately erupted from within, the room smothered in a scent that could only be described as cadaverous, prompting the sergeant to quickly reach in and pluck the drives out. “Goddammit,” he choked out amid his coughs, lunging out of his seat and deliriously pacing about the room.
Abigail had already went ahead and threw the windows open despite the raging storm outside. “W-What do you think’s inside them, sir?” she asked as she caught her breath, fingernails digging into her elbows. “Is it… is it going to be like last time?”
“Probably,” he grumbled, turning on his computer. “Seen a bunch of crazies in my time here, but not one with an ego this big. Fucking devil-worshippers like him think they know better all because they can fingerpaint some stars with pig’s blood.”
A flash of light capped his sentence, followed by the slow rumble of thunder. “This is sick…” she muttered. “He’s killed like, what, thirteen people already?”
“Twelve,” Harold corrected, plugging in the first drive. “I know it’s hard to tell these days, but he wants us nervous, Abigail. We can't let him get his way.”
“U-Understood, sir.”
“Good. Now then...”
The first drive only held a single image file. With one final click on the mouse, Harold was in, and what he saw immediately made him jolt backward into his seat.
“What, Sir? What is it— oh my God!”
It was a photograph of a body desecrated in a most horrific manner. Harold could tell it was a woman’s, but that’s only because of the killer’s modus operandi. The flesh from the sternum to the pelvis was cut and splayed open, her viscera on display for the world to see. “Jesus Christ,” he managed to impart as he yanked out the drive, clenching it in his fist.
Abigail could only tear up and collapse into the nearest chair.
Dread hung in the air as he plugged in the second drive, this one with a text file instead. Skimming through it, Harold understood them to be harmless words of praise, but no matter how hard they tried, he couldn’t make heads or tails of all the nonsense about unicorns and trumpets wedged in between.
Harold proceeded to plug in and open the final drive, this one containing an audio file. “God...” he muttered, putting on his headphones before tentatively reaching for the mouse, the cursor waveringly hovering above it for a bit before he breathed in and took the plunge.
A ruffling noise came first. Some heavy huffing and panting followed. Moaning. Groaning. A scratch scurrying from left to right, then silence.
Then, a high-pitched shriek.
Harold almost tore off his headphones. It was from a woman, no doubt the one from the image prior. Her scream clawed at his head, her voice twisting and convulsing in every contortion of agony he could never have perceived before now, so much so that the silence that came afterward felt divine. Sweating feverishly, he sat there, trembling. He wanted to turn it off, yet at the very back of his head, something urged him to play it back.
And so he did. Multiple times.
The screams were as distressing as ever, yet each time, the gnawing feeling at the back of his head grew. Harold leaned in closer, listening deeper into every which way the woman screeched. Even more so, he listened to the faint sounds in between— the sobs, the whimpers, the ragged cries and pleas for help, before realizing just what that feeling was.
The voice sounded familiar.
In fact, it almost sounded like...
“A-Abigail?” he shuddered, turning around.
The lights went out.
A crack of thunder split the sky.
“It’s fine, Abigail,” grunted Sergeant Harold Dawkins, stifling a yawn as he folded his umbrella. Crime waits for no man, after all. “You said the killer sent something to your house?”
Abigail nodded, faintly trembling. He couldn’t blame her, really. Rookie officer comes in and the first case to fall into her lap was someone finding the body of a woman nailed upside down to a lamppost? Anyone would do the same. “I-I… I didn't know who else to call,” she whimpered.
“It’s okay,” he said. “Where is it?”
“I-Inside.”
She had placed them on the desk in his office: three identical flash drives, resting in a dripping, mud-stained Ziploc bag. With a grimace, Harold put on a pair of rubber gloves before unsealing it. A fetid stench immediately erupted from within, the room smothered in a scent that could only be described as cadaverous, prompting the sergeant to quickly reach in and pluck the drives out. “Goddammit,” he choked out amid his coughs, lunging out of his seat and deliriously pacing about the room.
Abigail had already went ahead and threw the windows open despite the raging storm outside. “W-What do you think’s inside them, sir?” she asked as she caught her breath, fingernails digging into her elbows. “Is it… is it going to be like last time?”
“Probably,” he grumbled, turning on his computer. “Seen a bunch of crazies in my time here, but not one with an ego this big. Fucking devil-worshippers like him think they know better all because they can fingerpaint some stars with pig’s blood.”
A flash of light capped his sentence, followed by the slow rumble of thunder. “This is sick…” she muttered. “He’s killed like, what, thirteen people already?”
“Twelve,” Harold corrected, plugging in the first drive. “I know it’s hard to tell these days, but he wants us nervous, Abigail. We can't let him get his way.”
“U-Understood, sir.”
“Good. Now then...”
The first drive only held a single image file. With one final click on the mouse, Harold was in, and what he saw immediately made him jolt backward into his seat.
“What, Sir? What is it— oh my God!”
It was a photograph of a body desecrated in a most horrific manner. Harold could tell it was a woman’s, but that’s only because of the killer’s modus operandi. The flesh from the sternum to the pelvis was cut and splayed open, her viscera on display for the world to see. “Jesus Christ,” he managed to impart as he yanked out the drive, clenching it in his fist.
Abigail could only tear up and collapse into the nearest chair.
Dread hung in the air as he plugged in the second drive, this one with a text file instead. Skimming through it, Harold understood them to be harmless words of praise, but no matter how hard they tried, he couldn’t make heads or tails of all the nonsense about unicorns and trumpets wedged in between.
Harold proceeded to plug in and open the final drive, this one containing an audio file. “God...” he muttered, putting on his headphones before tentatively reaching for the mouse, the cursor waveringly hovering above it for a bit before he breathed in and took the plunge.
A ruffling noise came first. Some heavy huffing and panting followed. Moaning. Groaning. A scratch scurrying from left to right, then silence.
Then, a high-pitched shriek.
Harold almost tore off his headphones. It was from a woman, no doubt the one from the image prior. Her scream clawed at his head, her voice twisting and convulsing in every contortion of agony he could never have perceived before now, so much so that the silence that came afterward felt divine. Sweating feverishly, he sat there, trembling. He wanted to turn it off, yet at the very back of his head, something urged him to play it back.
And so he did. Multiple times.
The screams were as distressing as ever, yet each time, the gnawing feeling at the back of his head grew. Harold leaned in closer, listening deeper into every which way the woman screeched. Even more so, he listened to the faint sounds in between— the sobs, the whimpers, the ragged cries and pleas for help, before realizing just what that feeling was.
The voice sounded familiar.
In fact, it almost sounded like...
“A-Abigail?” he shuddered, turning around.
The lights went out.
A crack of thunder split the sky.
Alright, the twist feels a little standard, but the story definitely delivers on what it sets out to do, so I salute you.
That said, I know next to nothing about Abigail, so when the plot twist happens, I'm not terribly shocked. These types of fake-outs usually need way, way more build-up, so that I can look back on it all and see how all the pieces were falling into place the whole time (you bastard). Here I only think, I suppose it makes sense that she's a rookie. But there's not much else for me. I heard once that the best plot twists is the one that is shocking, yet inevitable. For this one, well, I don't know enough to figure out what's "evitable" and what's not.
So yes, the impact falters because of how little time is spent on the characters (maybe spend less on the viscera?), but the story is competently done.
Thanks for writing! And good luck to you!
That said, I know next to nothing about Abigail, so when the plot twist happens, I'm not terribly shocked. These types of fake-outs usually need way, way more build-up, so that I can look back on it all and see how all the pieces were falling into place the whole time (you bastard). Here I only think, I suppose it makes sense that she's a rookie. But there's not much else for me. I heard once that the best plot twists is the one that is shocking, yet inevitable. For this one, well, I don't know enough to figure out what's "evitable" and what's not.
So yes, the impact falters because of how little time is spent on the characters (maybe spend less on the viscera?), but the story is competently done.
Thanks for writing! And good luck to you!
Alternate Title: My Gym Partner's a Ghost
Oh boy, a detective story turns into a ghost story. And before you get on my case, yes I know there's the interpretation that Abigail is the killer, but it just doesn't add up for me.
Not that the other interpretation makes much sense.
My biggest problem with this entry (not gonna repeat the title, as I'm an American English speaker and thus get confused by complicated words) is basically what >>Miller Minus already said. But I'll elaborate.
The only things I know about Abigail is that she's a girl, she's feeble (or at least appears so), and she's a rookie. I get that this is a minific, but I don't know much of anything about either of these characters, so I can only make a couple connections. When re-reading this I found myself about as indifferent to her fate as I was the first time; the main difference upon a second read is that I'm struggling to see how her being a ghost adds up.
Wouldn't Harold have sensed something was off about her? Or is this an in-story world where spoops can replicate living humans just about perfectly? Wouldn't she have said something about this?
And what's with this killer anyway? I get the impression that the author put in some deliberately esoteric symbolism (what with the unicorn and such), but I can't tell if it's meant to be taken as actual symbolism or in jest.
On the positive side, I only have a couple gripes with the writing itself. There's a distinct lack of commas in places where you would expect them, and some dramatic timing that I feel is misplaced, but the dialogue and how it's attributed is pretty good. I also think this totally works as a first-person narrative, since we get a good impression of Harold's perspective.
I feel like I'm coming off as more negative than I should, as this is definitely not near the bottom of my slate, but to me this feels like a gun that wants to fire, but is jammed.
Oh boy, a detective story turns into a ghost story. And before you get on my case, yes I know there's the interpretation that Abigail is the killer, but it just doesn't add up for me.
Not that the other interpretation makes much sense.
My biggest problem with this entry (not gonna repeat the title, as I'm an American English speaker and thus get confused by complicated words) is basically what >>Miller Minus already said. But I'll elaborate.
The only things I know about Abigail is that she's a girl, she's feeble (or at least appears so), and she's a rookie. I get that this is a minific, but I don't know much of anything about either of these characters, so I can only make a couple connections. When re-reading this I found myself about as indifferent to her fate as I was the first time; the main difference upon a second read is that I'm struggling to see how her being a ghost adds up.
Wouldn't Harold have sensed something was off about her? Or is this an in-story world where spoops can replicate living humans just about perfectly? Wouldn't she have said something about this?
And what's with this killer anyway? I get the impression that the author put in some deliberately esoteric symbolism (what with the unicorn and such), but I can't tell if it's meant to be taken as actual symbolism or in jest.
On the positive side, I only have a couple gripes with the writing itself. There's a distinct lack of commas in places where you would expect them, and some dramatic timing that I feel is misplaced, but the dialogue and how it's attributed is pretty good. I also think this totally works as a first-person narrative, since we get a good impression of Harold's perspective.
I feel like I'm coming off as more negative than I should, as this is definitely not near the bottom of my slate, but to me this feels like a gun that wants to fire, but is jammed.
>>Miller Minus
>>No_Raisin
Thanks guys for the comments!
Honestly, this was more as an exercise in atmosphere than story, so I wasn't really concerned about the plot or the characters. I didn't really think of the plot twist as being a plot twist when I was writing this either, so I never really intended on making it shocking or really delve into the background of the characters.
Abigail is not the killer nor is she a ghost. It's more of an entity wearing Abigail as a shell, the entity being Amduscias, one of the Great Dukes of Hell from the Ars Goetia and the Pseudomonarchia Daemonum. That's where all the unicorn and trumpet symbolism is from, as well as the thunderstorm outside.
Here's a picture of the devil in question.
The killer had basically offered her to Amduscias as a body to possess, the triptych (one of it's definitions: a set of three associated artistic, literary, or musical works intended to be appreciated together.) being the three drives that featured a photo of her body, the incantations of praise, and the sound of her screaming. I had thought of ending it with Harold turning around to see Abigail smiling at him and the lights going out, though I opted for a more vague approach by mentioning the thunder again.
All in all, I didn't mind you guys (and I'm pretty sure everyone else) not getting it. Just me trying out a hand at atmosphere for another story.
Cheers!
>>No_Raisin
Thanks guys for the comments!
Honestly, this was more as an exercise in atmosphere than story, so I wasn't really concerned about the plot or the characters. I didn't really think of the plot twist as being a plot twist when I was writing this either, so I never really intended on making it shocking or really delve into the background of the characters.
Abigail is not the killer nor is she a ghost. It's more of an entity wearing Abigail as a shell, the entity being Amduscias, one of the Great Dukes of Hell from the Ars Goetia and the Pseudomonarchia Daemonum. That's where all the unicorn and trumpet symbolism is from, as well as the thunderstorm outside.
Here's a picture of the devil in question.
The killer had basically offered her to Amduscias as a body to possess, the triptych (one of it's definitions: a set of three associated artistic, literary, or musical works intended to be appreciated together.) being the three drives that featured a photo of her body, the incantations of praise, and the sound of her screaming. I had thought of ending it with Harold turning around to see Abigail smiling at him and the lights going out, though I opted for a more vague approach by mentioning the thunder again.
All in all, I didn't mind you guys (and I'm pretty sure everyone else) not getting it. Just me trying out a hand at atmosphere for another story.
Cheers!